1I'm normally a strict House/Wilson shipper, but Wac-a-Mole and Finding Judas damn near traumatized me. With their relationship torn apart on the show I'm finding it difficult to write H/W right now. I don't much like the direction the show has gone, so I'll just cross my fingers and hope the writers don't drag this out much longer. In the meantime...
"When one door of happiness closes, another opens..."
-Helen Keller
Just like that, it was over.
House got up and walked out of Wilson's office. No apology, but he hadn't really expected one. What he had expected was something, some sign however small that House had internalized Wilson's sharp words. That he'd heard. That he gave a shit about what he'd done to his best friend. That he gave a shit about the man who'd just given up his medical practice to keep him out of prison.
Instead, House just walked out.
For a long time, Wilson sat numbly, staring at the door. Suddenly, he stood and swept the files from his desk with one red-hot motion. Papers exploded from the files and cascaded through the air, landingover couch, chairs, and floor mingling in a hopeless tangle
"Fuck!" he snarled, slamming his fists down on the desktop, taking grim pleasure in the distraction provided by the momentary pain.The bitter rage was short-lived; it dissipated as swiftly as it had come, leaving a wave of depression in its wake.Drained, he sank down into his chair and covered his face with his hands.
I had two things going for me: this job and this stupid, screwed-up friendship. Both are gone now. Neither mattered enough to him. I didn't matter enough to him. Why didn't I learn my lesson last time? How fucking stupid am I?
"Dr. Wilson?"
Wilson raised his head at the hesitant voice. Chase was standing half-in and half-out of the door, peering silently at the disaster Wilson had made of his office.
"Are you okay?"
Wilson nodded tiredly, too weary to feel much more than a slight flare of embarrassment for his outburst. "I'm good." He gathered himself and looked up at the young intensivist. "What can I do for you?"
Chase entered slowly and sat in the chair House had vacated. "Actually, I heard that you and Cameron have a difference of opinion and I thought I'd volunteer instead."
Wilson shook his head. "I appreciate that, Chase, but I've decided to shut down my practice until this all works out." He gave in to a moment of self-pity. "If this all works out."
Chase frowned. "Don't do that," he said quietly. "Your patients need you. They trust you."
Wilson sighed and massaged the back of his neck. "I know, but I can't be their doctor, not with another doctor dogging my steps, making my patients doubt me. Better to take a vacation or something until this thing blows over."
"Then let me just write your prescriptions. I trust you."
Tears stung Wilson's eyes and he looked down to hide them. Trust was the root issue, wasn't it? Wilson had trusted House for all these years, in spite of all the minor betrayals. Trust was gone now, taking with it twelve years of a friendship Wilson himself had trusted always to be there. In allowing himself to be drawn more and more into House's downward spiral, Wilson had lost trust in himself. At this point, there was nothing Wilson needed to hear more than someone's expression of trust in him.
He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "Cameron was nervous because she was afraid Tritter will audit her prescriptions. Besides, what about House? He won't like it if his duckling is working with me when he's trying to screw with me."
Chase met Wilson's eyes. "Bugger Tritter and bugger House for all that," he said clearly. He looked around at the mess of papers. "Let's start by sorting this out. Figure out who we're prescribing for."
Wilson watched as Chase began picking up and organizing the patient files from the floor and furniture, bringing order to chaos, working with the quiet patience that Wilson had come to associate with Chase.
"Why?" he asked.
Chase looked up. "Why what?"
"You're always the one so afraid of losing his job. You always do the safe thing. You never stand up when you don't have to. Why now?"
Chase shrugged. "Picking my fights, I suppose. House isn't worth it. You are." He colored and quickly dropped his eyes. He handed a completed file across the desk. "Check and make sure I have everything. Looks like adriamycin for Bill Johnson's pancreatic cancer?"
Wilson leafed through the file, covering Chase's discomfort. "Yeah. Looks complete."
"Nasty stuff, adriamycin," Chase commented.
"Yeah, it's a last-resort drug, in my opinion, but Bill's cancer isn't responding well to vinblastine, so..." He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He was going to lose Bill Johnson before six months had passed, no matter what meds he was on. At this point, the hope was simply to manage the metastasis and keep the man fairly comfortable. "I know you have a patient, so why don't you let me clean up the mess I made and I can give you a list of patients and meds later?"
Chase nodded, but made no move to leave. He studied Wilson for a moment, hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision. "Want to talk?" he asked finally.
Wilson looked up, surprised. He and Chase had always been on pleasant enough terms, but of all of House's ducklings, Wilson had always liked Chase least. Part of it was the fact of Chase's betrayal during Vogler's reign, but part was also less tangible, an inability to read the blond. No one seemed to know much about him and that seemed to be the way Chase wanted it. In Wilson's experience, people who kept that much to themselves were usually arrogant, untrustworthy, or both. Even House-
But it hurt to think about House. Better to pick at that wound later, when he could let his defenses down.
"I probably do need to talk, but I wouldn't know where to start right now. I appreciate the offer, though."
Chase nodded once and got up. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about what happened." He slipped through the door as quietly as he had entered.
Right words. Wrong speaker.
Wilson sank to his knees and picked up papers at random as depression washed over him again.
